A Lesson in Shaving
by Cannecan
Summary: "Your face is hairy," was the final determination. Finger tips brushed back and forth against the tiny hairs and then as an added afterthought "and scratchy," was tacked on." Younger brother Marcello doesn't quite grasp the concept of facial hair at the age of seven. Lovino doesn't quite grasp the curse of genetics at nineteen. AU: Family & General Angst


**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to anything.**

 ** _Working Title:_ _You've Got a Face Like Your Father's and It's Making Your Brother Cry_**

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There is always a constant stickiness that seems to cling to little fingers.

They're small and fragile, but always - _always_ tacky to the point that they leave their syrupy residue behind. Point in case as two such tiny palms pulled and patted at his a brother's chin and cheeks and they stuck momentarily to his skin before be pried back to repeat the process again and again.

As said brother cracked an eye open, Lovino noticed the thin light brown brows of his youngest brother, Marcello, knitting together over the darker eyes as they stared intently at Lovino's face. Marcello sat across his stomach inspecting he scruff that had sprouted up along Lovino's jaw. "Your face is hairy," was the final determination. Fingertips brushed back and forth against the tiny hairs and then as an added afterthought "and scratchy," was tacked on.

Lovino's lip twitched and he shut his eyes so he wouldn't get dizzy as he shook his head so that the stubble would scratch Marcello's palms. Not to be mean, but because his face _was_ scratchy, and if the kid wouldn't stop touching it then it was fair play. At the very least it got Marcello to yank his hands back, but then he just replaced them on his own face, smoothing over his own round cheeks still plumb with baby fat and down his face until he was scratching a bare chin. He pouted, turning back to Lovino, he reached out and scrubbed at his brother's face in frustration.

"I don't like it," he concluded. Getting upset when the tiny hairs just irritated his hands but didn't so much as move on Lovino's face.

"You don't?" Lovino questioned, brining up a larger hand to his chin and rubbing the skin over the angled bone beneath. Lovino was aware of Nonna in the background, dish towel over her shoulder and hands down in a pot that rested in the sink. She was listening, of course, over the sound of the sloshing water around her hands and sponge. Lovino spared a glance at her at the sound of a small snort of laughter, and he grinned around little fingers pulling his lips down. "Yeah, me neither. It itches," he replied.

"Then get rid of it." Marcello was six years old, and when he was as early as a few months old, Lovino realized, whatever Marcello wanted, all he had to do was request it in his sweet, inquisitive tones, or a look, and it was a done deal. Both of Lovino's younger brothers had this trick, though everyone in the house caught on to Feliciano's schmoozing voice by the time he was seven, so maybe Marcello was breaching his final days of on demand action, too.

"Now?" Lovino raised an eyebrow and tucked a few loose strand of his own hair behind his ear before crossing his arms over his chest in pensive thought.

"Now," was the definite response.

And the tugging and scrubbing resumed, only with more force. It didn't hurt the nineteen year old to have his face assaulted, but he also didn't really enjoy the rearrangement, either. So with an amused huff and a gentle placement of his hands on his brother's to stop them in their work, Lovino nudge the weight of his brother off of his stomach so he could roll himself off of the couch.

Perhaps the little brother had a few more months of nagging ahead of him yet. Maybe.

Lovino passed through the kitchen, looking at his Nonna as he went. She gave him look that was torn between amusement and something akin to sadness, but Lovino tucked his guilt down in a dark place in his heart and continued to head down the narrow hall of the townhome that his grandparents had been living in for forty years now. Lovino and his brother had not been residing there for only three years, but as the boys grew up the home was only becoming smaller.

The bathroom was quiet and it gave Lovino some momentary peace. But living in a such a small house with four other people never allowed for _too_ much calmness. There seemed to always be someone around the next corner, or, standing in a doorway looking up at Lovino with an expression that was half amusing and half concerning.

Lovino spared a glance down to the contemplative face staring at him."What are you doing?"

Marcello started. He made a dumb face at Lovino and shifted his eyes back to the mirror instead of looking at his older brother directly."Watching you, stupid."

"Why?"

"Because." Marcello huffed and shifted his eyes away, almost as if he was momentarily embarrassed. It only lasted for a few moments, though. Just enough time for Lovino to wet a clean razor and get some shaving cream lathered up and on his face. As Lovino brought the blade to his cheek and brought it across his skin Marcello indicated that he was intrigued again by asking in a small voice, "Doesn't that hurt?"

"Nope."

"But it's sharp, right?"

"Yup."

"You can cut yourself?"

"Yup."

"Do you?"

"Nope."

"Oh." And then, "Have you ever?"

"Yup."

"Did that hurt?"

"Not really."

"Did it bleed?"

Lovino rolled his eyes over to his younger brother and gave him a dumb look. "Do you bleed when you cut yourself?"

"Yeah," Marcello replied, scuffing his toes on the tiles, his cheeks puffing out with imprudence.

Lovino just snorted and rolled his eyes back to the mirror and resumed. "Then there you go."

The bathroom stayed quiet for a minute, save for when the tap would turn on and wash the razor's blade clean, but then the knob would be turned again and it was silent, save for the scrapping of the blade over skin. Marcello just stood there and silently watched the process, Lovino sparing a sideways glance over at him just to see if he was still there when it got too quite. During the silent moment as he looked down at his youngest brother, it occurred to Lovino that someone would have to eventually show Marcello how to shave his own face in order to not knick his skin. Lovino wondered for a moment whether that was something else that fell onto him to do as the eldest brother, or whether Nonno or Feliciano would take on that responsibility.

Lovino moved his eyes back to the mirror and suddenly realized he that he looked truly terrible, with a half shaven face and dark bags under his eyes. Lovino almost jumped when Marcello broke the silence.

"How much do you have to do that?"

"Every day." Lovino said, coming back to himself. More or less every day. But less words and shorter answers were easier when trying not to prove himself a liar and nick his skin.

"Or else you'd look like Nonno?" Marcello was just standing there, so he could ask all the questions he wanted to. And he was set on doing just that, apparently.

The old man was the hairy type. He passed that genetic down to Lovino's father and then his son passed it on to Lovino himself. But Nonno only had a thin beard that bordered his jaw and the point of his chin: it was just the scruff that would grow faster than normal but was still noticeable facial hair. He'd probably have a lot more if he were to stop shaving completely.

"Something like that," was the answer that Lovino went with.

Another scrape of the blades and then a splash of water cleaned all the residue away, then a hand towel that he probably wasn't supposed to be using for his face soaked up the water. "Alright, is this better?" Lovino crouched down to let Marcello inspect his work and without further prodding the little sticky hands were back to touching his face: his cheeks, his jaw, and then his chin. They stopped at his neck, right over the pulse point and Lovino was almost knocked off his balance when arms looped themselves all the way around his throat and a small body crashed into his chest.

"You'll do it again tomorrow, right?"

His arms were slow to return the hug. He was used to his little brothers throwing themselves at him from years of sniffling and clinging when Mama wasn't around to kiss a scrapped elbow or chase away the monster hiding in the closet, and then more often when Mama wasn't around at all. But the small voice that mumbled into his ear threw him off because it brought Lovino back to a dark night surrounded by shattered glass and the remains of their family's car littered in pieces over the pavement. Of his little brothers in an ambulance asking questions that sixteen year old him could only barely answer in his own mind. It just took another second for the sudden change in mood to confuse Lovino before he could manage to move his arms to loosely hang around Marcello's stomach, and then mutter out a lame, confused: "I guess..?"

"Nuhuh, you have to!" And the little arms tightened their hold, and the small face nuzzled its way further into the crook of Lovino's neck. But when a new kind of wet hit his skin and the little boy in his arms sucked in a deep breath that hitched, Lovino didn't need to pull his brother back to know that he was crying. What he did need, though, was an explanation as to why.

And Marcello gave him one.

"You looked like Papa."

And that was reason enough, because Marcello was young when their father had died, and the boy's last memory of him had given the then five year old nightmares for almost a solid year.

It still gave Lovino nightmares, too, but he didn't sleep much anymore, anyway.

"I'll shave again tomorrow."

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 **a/n: Out of everything I have ever tried to write, this one will always holds a special place in my heart. It has sat in my documents for, oh, I don't know, 3 years? I know it's a stupid little drabble of nothingness, but time was up. Either post it or delete it, I said. So...**

 **This is based around the AU that Sunruner set up in _Game of Cooks_ and _Big Brother Don't Cry._ I love that AU so-so-so-so-** _ **so**_ **much, even if I am not really in the fandom anymore. Go check those fics out if you have a moment, because they're some of the best.**


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